


Sam and Self Harm

by rosworms



Series: Therapy Fanfic [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, No Ship, Sastiel - Freeform, Self Harm, Wincest - Freeform, genfic, self injury, therapy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 20:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosworms/pseuds/rosworms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on self harm or self injury. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Addict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on self harm or self injury. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.
> 
> This particular story/chapter is also posted on it's own outside of the series as 'Addict', but I didn't want to leave it out for anyone looking for a group of stories.

It’s not hard for an addict to find himself trapped. To find that himself addicted to something else because he’d thought he only had to avoid the first addiction and didn’t realize he had a new one until it was too late.

This is how Sam Winchester found himself addicted to the act of self harm. 

It started after the wall fell down. Pain was a coping mechanism for keeping the crazy at bay. Pain in your physical body felt different than pain in just your soul. It was a fairly simple way to tell reality from delusion.  
When the cut on his hand began to heal, the dull pain of pushing down on the injury began to fade. So he’d found a new pain. Sam and Dean were used to having to cut themselves with silver just to prove they were human, so Sam didn’t think twice about slicing into his skin to prove reality to himself. It didn’t seem like a big deal.

He attributed the immediate calm and almost buzzed feeling that rushed through him to the relief of knowing he was free from the cage. He forgot that an endorphin high felt the same way and pain produced endorphins just like exercise and sex.

He didn’t realize anything was wrong until he left the mental hospital without any lingering hallucinations.

Everything had been fine until he was alone in the bathroom staring at the blood running down his arm and realized what he’d done out of habit. And that he had the same buzzed feeling until he cleaned himself up.

That had been his first clue. When he consciously tried to stop, he found himself short tempered, distracted, and feeling generally shitty. Then he was back in the bathroom again.

He didn’t truly admit his addiction to himself until he was forced to admit it out loud. Dean had opened the bathroom door without knocking. It was bound to happen eventually with how close they lived each moment of their lives.

"This is totally fucked up. You know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"This ends now. We fight to survive, not so you can do their job for them."

"Dean, it’s not that simple."

"No, it is. Just stop doing this."

"I don’t think I can."

And so they did what they did best. They ignored the elephant in the room and went on with their business… saving people, hunting things.

And Sam didn’t stop. He just got more careful. Not about hiding, but about keeping it safe and clean. 

The thing about addiction is that you can’t force someone into recovery before they are ready. That’s why the panic room never would have worked the first time, even if Castiel hadn’t let him out. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to stay clean.

And Sam wasn’t ready to stop this one until he completed the first trial. The mission became more important than the urge. The cleansing helped dampen the urge. He finally felt he was doing something of worth.


	2. About the Wagon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on self harm or self injury. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

It started by accident. One time when he’d been a teenager going through the most depressing and angsty time of his life, he’d been punished for some transgression that he couldn’t remember. He remembered the punishment. He was to clean all of the hunting knives. 

He could recall the moment exactly. Something had angered him and he gripped too tightly with the hand holding the cloth. The blade had sliced right through the fabric and into his palm. And knowing he’d done it and seeing the blood well up, feeling the delayed sharp pain… it fascinated him. And for some unknown reason, he decided to do it again in a different spot. 

The rush of endorphins left a small buzz in it’s wake. He could almost hear a ringing in the back of his head and all of the tension he’d been holding onto had been released. 

He knew he had to be crazy. What a bizarre reaction to have to injuring yourself. Feeling relieved, warm, pleasantly numb. 

After he came back to his senses, he cleaned himself up and finished the job. 

~

He didn’t think about it again for a month or so, but he was so good at bottling up his aggression and depression. It eventually came to a point where he thought he would explode… and that’s when the memory of the time he cut himself surfaced. He remembered the feeling and thought there was no harm in trying again.

This time he used his own knife and made sure he had complete privacy and time to clean up. He wasn’t stupid and he didn’t want to be caught. He knew what he was doing was wrong.

And so he sat on the toilet seat, taking a few deep breaths to build up the nerve and then made a quick slice across his forearm. The feeling was like an explosion of heat and a great big sigh of relief. If he could put the feeling in a pill, he’d be a millionaire. 

But there was still tension, he wasn’t done. So he did it again. Number two… and it felt complete. He just needed to let the buzz fill him for a moment before he started moving again. 

His eyes felt dry as he stared at the dripping blood, not even realizing that he wasn’t blinking. He felt like he was just coming down from a drug high and that’s when he remembered he needed to clean up.

~

And now here he was, thirty one years old and thinking about a habit he’d started at the age of thirteen. A habit that became an addiction. An addiction that was kicked out the door when a demon named Ruby supplied him with a new one. Then he kicked that one in the teeth and thought he was done with both. He hadn’t fallen back since Famine.

But now his brother was dead, or worse if Crowley was to be believed. Dean’s body was gone. Castiel had been out of contact. He was alone.

And he had nobody to go to.

And all he wanted to do was shut off his brain and feel that buzz and warmth and relief… even if it was temporary.


	3. I'll Save Me After I Save You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on self harm or self injury. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

Dean’s lips on his own made thinking hard for Sam. The hands roaming over his body were like conduits of ecstasy, each touch making him feel more aroused and more alive.

"Fuck, Sammy… gotta have you now." Dean ground out wile biting at Sam’s bottom lip. Sam was pushed onto the bed and then Dean was straddling him and pulling at his shirt.

And all Sam wanted at that moment was to give Dean what he wanted. But he was brought back down to earth when rough calloused hands glided over his side and he breathed a hiss of pain and involuntarily jerked away from Dean’s touch.

Dean leaned back in a flash, looking to where his hands had been. Sam saw the spark in Dean’s eyes as he registered the three perfectly straight red lines underneath Sam’s rib cage.

"Sam…" Dean climbed off of Sam, the mood gone.

"Dean, it’s not a big deal." Sam grabbed at his shirt and started to put it back on, wanting to hide the evidence on his body. 

"How long?" Dean ran a hand through his hair and flopped down in the chair next to the bed. 

"First time."

"Bullshit, try again. You were able to keep this shit secret for three years before I caught you before. You saying I was just lucky to catch you the first time now?" Dean was angry. Sam could feel the waves of heat rolling off of him.

"Well… yeah."

"So what? You were just better at hiding it when you were a kid?"

"Yeah… we didn’t spend as much time together naked back then. I wasn’t exactly fucking my brother at the tender age of fifteen." Sam rolled his eyes. 

"Oh yeah…" Dean swiped a hand over his face and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So, now what? Do I need to hide all the sharp objects?"

"I won’t do it again." Sam looked down at his hands, his face burning with shame.

"Can you promise me that?" Dean asked. Sam didn’t answer. "Yeah, that’s what I thought. So… now what?"

"Nothing. I’m an adult. Even if you try to take away every knife we own, I can just go to the store and buy something else. Just… forget about it." Sam shrugged. 

"What the hell even set this off again? After years of being clean from it?"

Sam stood up, not wanting to answer Dean’s question. His eyes darted around the room and landed on the door, the exit. 

"What? No! You stay here." Dean roared, knowing the panicked look in Sam’s eyes. "You talk. What’s eating you? Gotta fix it before my contract is up, man. I won’t be here to protect you from yourself."

"God, Dean! Did it not even occur to you that might be it? The fact that you sold your soul and are going to Hell… is my fault? You didn’t think that would be a little upsetting?” Sam was shaking. He wanted to punch something, but Dean was the only one there and he couldn’t. So he paced, wringing his hands. “I just… I just needed to forget for a while. Just a few minutes free from… this.”

Dean deflated like a punctured balloon. Sam could see the guilt that weighed him down. 

"Sammy…."

"This isn’t your fault, Dean. It’s mine. I just… please don’t take this away from me. Not right now. I need it."

"You don’t."

"I do. I really do. I’ll find a different coping mechanism after we find a way to save you."

~

Two years later…

Sam and Dean were in bed, their reunion having been rough and fast. Zachariah’s little ‘lesson’ with Dean seemed to have flipped a switch and he’d had Sam in a motel room only hours after meeting up and catching up on what each had missed about the other.

Sam’s eyes were closed. He felt content and satisfied for the first time since Dean went to Hell. His time with Ruby never left him feeling anything but dirty, but Dean completed him.

He smiled as he felt Dean’s fingers flutter over his skin. Feather light touches.

"These are all… uh… I haven’t seen all these." Dean’s voice sounded rough and wet. Sam opened his eyes to see his brother was actually tracing over scars that littered Sam’s body.

"Oh…" Sam sighed. 

"I thought you were going to find something else." Dean’s hands found the most recent marks and stayed there, the warmth seeping into Sam’s skin.

"Well, we never did find a way to save you."


	4. Start Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on self harm or self injury. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

A knock on the bathroom door brought him back down to Earth. He looked down at his arm and realized what he’d done. His body flushed with heat and quickly cooled, making him feel clammy with shame and fear.

"Sammy, c’mon. Time to get a move on" Dean’s voice called through the cheap wooden door. 

Sam looked around, desperately. He’d forgotten to bring the first aid kit. He hadn’t been in the right state of mind for planning.

He reached for the toilet paper, pressing a wad of it against his arm, wiping the rivulets of blood that had already begun to trickle down towards his wrist.

"Just a moment." He cringed as his voice came out too breathy. 

"Sam?" Dean asked as he opened the door with a slow groan.

"No! Shut the door!" Sam yelled out in panic. But it was too late. Dean was already looking at his arm. 

"Dammit…" Dean’s voice was rough, but his eyes were soft. He dropped the bag from his shoulder and opened it. He had the first aid kid. Of course. He set it on the side of the sink, noticing and picking up the little box cutting blade with a line of blood on the edge. "Sammy…"

He tossed the blade into the little motel garbage and opened the kit. He lowered to his knees and gently took Sam’s arm in his hands, pulling the wad of toilet paper away to assess the damage. 

Three straight red lines. Always groups of three. They stood out against the old ones that were raised while lines. Dean’s fingers trailed gently over the old marks, raising goosebumps around them.

"Sorry." He looked up to Sam’s eyes briefly before he started cleaning and dressing the cuts. 

"I’m sorry, Dean." Sam mumbled, eyes burning with tears that wouldn’t fall. "Seven fucking months… down the drain." 

He’d been able to quit his self destructive coping mechanism for a while. Dean had been by his side the whole time, ready to listen when Sam needed to talk, ready to hold Sam when he needed the physical security. And it had worked for the most part.

Until now.

"So we start again." Dean shrugged. He finished the bandage and lightly placed a kiss over it before returning Sam’s arm and standing up to put the supplies away.

"We?" Sam flexed his hand, looking at the bandage that now wrapped around his forearm.

"Yeah. We’re in this together. That hasn’t changed." Dean closed the bag with the first aid kit in it again and pulled Sam up from where he sat on the edge of the bath tub. He carefully grabbed Sam by the chin, making sure their eyes met. "I ain’t lettin’ you go. Never again."


	5. Releasing Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on self harm or self injury. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

Dean was out again, looking for a drink and a fuck. Sam refused to say anything about it anymore. It would be hypocritical of him, especially when Dean’s vices were probably healthier than his own.

And Dean’s being out gave him an opportunity to indulge in his own. To get rid of that tight feeling of being stretched end to end. To release the pressure before he burst.

He put the chain on the door. Even if Dean came back early, he’d have a few moments of time to clean up.

He scratched absently at his arm, healing wounds from last week starting to itch as he grabbed his own secret first aid kit from his duffel bag. The kit that had supplies only for burns and small cuts. Nothing more and nothing less. 

He sad on the floor against the motel door and rolled up his sleeve. His pulse sped up as he looked down at his arm, at the groups of little lines in various stages of heeling. 

All of his feelings from the last week started to bubble up, trying to tear him apart from the inside. He needed this. He always needed this. 

His pulse thrummed in his neck, throbbing almost painfully. He picked up a shiny new blade. He always used a new blade each time. Clean. Unlike him.

"Sam."

So focused on his task, the gravelly voice startled him and he gasped as he dropped the blade. It hit the floor. It was dirty now. It was unusable.

"Wh- what? Castiel?" He tore his gaze away from the dropped blade and looked up at the angel. 

"What are you doing, Sam?" Castiel tilted his head and leaned in, gently taking hold of Sam’s marked up arm.

"I just… I need this. It’s okay." Sam tried to pull back, feeling weak against Castiel’s angelic strength. Castiel shouldn’t touch him. The angel was too pure to be sullied by him. "Let go… please."

"I can heal these." Castiel’s fingers caressed the raised scars and red scabs. Sam felt the air thin around him and he breathed faster to compensate.

"No, please…" He panted, panicking, pulling at his arm until Castiel let him go. He brought his arms into his chest and curled his legs up until he was tiny against the door. "No. I need them. They’re my- I need them."

A gentle touch on his head had him jerking back, slamming into the door with a thud. 

"Sam! Stop this." He stilled at the order. Castiel was on his knees, level with him now. "Look at me. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"It’s not a big deal. It just… helps."

"How does injuring yourself help in any way?"

"Just…" He never talked about it with anyone. Nobody else knew about it. He wasn’t expecting the sting of tears in his eyes. "It just does. Everything… everything builds up. Every feeling… they stay and they add up and grow and then I feel like I’m going to explode. And… and if I can just relieve some of that pressure, it helps."

The hand was on his head again, combing through his hair, and he leaned in this time. He let it soothe him, calm him. 

"What feelings?"

"All of them. Good ones, bad ones… mostly feelings about myself. My blood… demon blood, Lucifer, The Apocalypse, how everything is my fault and if I could just…. something…. I gotta fix it. And Dean. I’ve let him down. I tried to be like him, to be strong, and I fucked that up." Sam sighed, not noticing as he was pulled towards Castiel’s chest. 

"And this… this cutting… makes you feel like you are freeing the feelings? As if your feelings are released with the blood?"

Sam sniffled, now lying sideways with his head on Castiel’s lap. His hair was stroked and his knees tucked into his chest. 

"Yeah… something like that."

He was exhausted. The combination of sharing his feelings and being petted.

"I would prefer if you didn’t do that, Sam. It troubles me to see you in pain and I would take it from you if I could. Maybe… if you could release your feelings another way…" Castiel leaned in and Sam could feel his breath on his ear as he whispered. "You could pray."

Sam blinked slowly, the cathartic comfort from Castiel making him sleepy. To pray… to Castiel. 

Whenever someone urged him to pray about his problems, it seemed so insincere and shallow.

For the first time it meant something.


End file.
